


Fragile Things

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [46]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: It's been a very long week.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

The sofa was empty when Edge first walked in from work, the television dark and silent. He took the time to hang up his coat and set his briefcase by his desk before calling up the stairs. “Stretch?”

No reply. It was not entirely a surprise. The past two days Stretch had been late coming home, working on some sort of project in the lab right up until dinnertime. He hadn’t mentioned what it was yet, but again, that was hardly unusual. For every project that he wanted to discuss in fine detail there was another that would be kept behind whatever mental embargo that Stretch put on it, until he’d worked his way past his own set of checkpoints enough to bring it up.

Strange that it didn’t seem to matter how important a project was, whether it was a secret one for Asgore or something ridiculous he was designing for the neighborhood children. Stretch had a certain goalpost that all his work needed to reach before he’d talk about it, some mental scale that needed to balance. It made Edge wonder how many were languishing down in his lab, exiled until such a time that they qualified. 

Whatever it was, Edge was honestly looking forward to hearing about it. Not that he’d understand most of what he was told, but that hardly mattered. What he wanted was to see Stretch talking about it, the animated way he spoke with his hands, the flash of his grin and the bubbling excitement that always came when he’d made some sort of breakthrough. 

He’d been tired but pleased all week so it must be going well. Perhaps today Edge would finally get to hear about the finer points. Until then, he took advantage of the empty house to turn on his preferred music station, contemplating dinner and perhaps dessert. There was a little time for him to come up with something. 

It was easy to lose himself in the rhythm of cooking, chopping vegetables and setting a pot on to boil water for rice. Vegetable curry sounded delicious, it was a meal he made often since Stretch liked it as well, and it would come together quickly. 

The heady aroma of spice filled the air and he breathed it in contentedly, soft magic filling his mouth. Lunch had been some time ago and he hadn’t had time to even grab a muffin, trying to keep up with both his own work and Janice’s. It was difficult to resist the urge to work through lunch as it was, the temptation lingering in the back of his thoughts, demanding that he not fall behind. 

Learning to ignore that voice had taken him years and Edge wasn’t about to start obeying it now. Exhausting himself would do favors for no one and the other teams were more than happy to take on little extra work until Janice returned. He didn’t _have_ to do everything on his own and time enough to eat his lunch was little enough to ask. 

By the time the rice was done, fluffy and steaming, and the curry in a serving dish, it was nearly seven. Edge frowned at the clock, niggling concern starting to replace hunger. Stretch was never this late, even on his most distracted days. 

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text, letting Stretch know that dinner was ready, if he could please pull himself from his work long enough to eat it before it got cold. No reply; the flag beneath it stayed at delivered but never changed to read. 

Food forgotten, Edge pulled up the tracking app. As he’d guessed, it said Stretch’s phone was down the road, at his brother’s house where his lab was still downstairs. When he’d moved in, the lab had remained since Stretch hadn’t wanted to go through the effort of dismantling everything to move it when he could shortcut the distance easily from their living room. It had its own entrance, a safety precaution against fumes, and Blue hadn’t minded, so there it stayed. 

Not a problem, except if Edge wanted to visit the lab, he needed either a car or a jog. 

He didn’t visit often. 

With a sigh, Edge covered the serving bowls before he slipped on his boots and coat. He scooped up his keys on his way out the door, not that it was a far walk but he wanted to eat sooner than later. The drive was brief, and it was without a shred of guilt that he parked on the street rather than the driveway. As much as he liked Blue, if he caught sight of them, they’d be trapped for twenty minutes of chatting before they escaped. He was hungry, damn it, and manners could wait for another day. 

The lab door was unlocked, and Edge added that to his mental list of complaints. There was a keypad for a reason, what was the point of a lock if anyone could wander downstairs at any time, whether or not they had good reason? Edge didn’t need a PhD to know that some of these experiments were delicate and one interruption could ruin weeks of work. 

“Stretch?” he called as he made his way down the stairs, not wanting to startle him. The lack of reply was worrying, and he pushed aside the heavy plastic curtain in the open doorway, stepping into the lab proper. 

Aside from the wild clutter of the desk which was a mess of papers and toys, a set of stuffed chickens sitting pertly in the middle, the worktables were all neatly organized, each one with a clipboard hanging on one end. Edge didn’t recognize any of the equipment or experiments, and didn’t care because Stretch wasn’t standing by any of them. 

His phone was sitting on the last table and Edge started towards it automatically, only to freeze as he caught sight of a skeletal hand extending past the end of the table, fingers lax against the polished floor tiles. 

“Rus?” Edge gasped, moving so quickly he stumbled over his own feet, falling with abnormal gracelessness to his knees where Stretch was sprawled out on the floor, pale and still. His sockets were closed, a thin line of marrow running from his nasal aperture was dried to maroon which meant he’d been here a while, he’d been lying here while Edge was chopping fucking vegetables, he-

Enough. Panic wasn’t going to help in the slightest and Edge pushed it aside, drawing on inner calm. Stretch wasn’t dust which meant he was alive. 

A Check sent a quiver through that fragile calm, shaking him to his core. Stretch’s HP was into the decimals and his magic was vanishingly low. Edge wasn’t incapable of healing but no how much training he’d gone through, he was still terrible at it. It wasn’t an innate skill of his and with Stretch’s HP so low, it was possible trying would do more harm than good. 

Any mental stability was slipping away and Edge knelt for too long, frozen in indecision, until he remembered where he was. 

His fingers were shaking, he noticed distantly, pulling up his contact list and finding a number that was close to the top. It rang once, twice, and then a familiar voice answered. 

Edge didn’t bother with a greeting. “Blue, I need you to come downstairs to your brother’s lab, right now, it’s an emergency—”

The phone hadn’t even disconnected when the familiar pop of teleportation came from behind him. Blue was moving before Edge could say a word, a low moan escaping him as he caught sight of his brother’s still form. Sans was at his heels, the source of his quick shortcut, and he stood back, his eye lights dim and shocked even as Blue laid his hands on his brother’s rib cage.

His hands flared, brilliant with magic and Stretch convulsed, his cry garbled and pained as healing was forced directly into his soul. His heels drummed against the floor, sneakers squeaking as he strained, arching up hard enough that his joints popped. Whether it was into his brother’s touch or a simple reflex, Edge didn’t know. He could only stand back, unable to touch for risk of that magic flowing into him instead of the intended target, his own sockets narrowed as he watched Stretch’s HP crawl back upward. 

There were a few dark spots of marrow staining the front of Stretch’s sweatshirt, perfect round droplets, and Edge couldn’t stop himself from wondering vaguely if it would wash out. 

Behind him, Sans was moving, and Edge glanced at him unwillingly, watching him study the worktable. There was a machine of some sort on it and that was what had Sans’s attention, softly glowing dials that Sans was looking over. He caught Edge watching him, the corners of his permanent smile curled tight and upset. 

“he’s been using the magic distiller?” Sans asked sharply.

“I think so,” Edge admitted. He wasn’t certain on the name, but he knew what the machine was. Stretch had been working on a way to stabilize healing magic into a carrier, like an ointment or an oil, but that was an ongoing project Sans was supposed to have been working on with him, for Asgore. “He said it was safe.”

Sans’s expression revealed nothing, but Edge was accustomed to a much higher grade of deception.

“He lied,” Edge said flatly. 

The hesitation was brief, and revealing, Sans’s eye lights flickering to the floor where Blue was starting to sweat, trickles running down the sides of his face as the glow in his hands wavered. Stretch was so terribly still again, the normal warm tint of his bones paled to starkness. 

“wouldn’t say that,” Sans said, too carefully, too slow. 

“Would I?”

Another hesitation but it seemed he’d reached the limits of Sans’s willingness to prevaricate. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “probably.”

A low whimper interrupted whatever he might have said, and later Edge would think that was for the best, the words hovering on the border of being spoken had been harsh, cold. Sans would have borne his undeserved anger without a complaint and he likely would have forgiven it, the circumstances being what they were. But he wouldn’t have forgotten it. 

Still kneeling on the floor, Blue was panting, his own eye lights dimmed from their normal cheery stars. “That’s all I can manage,” Blue said wearily. “He’s out of danger but we need to get him to the hospital.”

Tired as he obviously was, Blue automatically started to pick him up and Edge reached out to stop him. “I’ve got him.”

Blue’s smile was weakly grateful. “I know, you take good care of him.”

“Not good enough,” Edge replied curtly. He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t care to hear Blue trying to make excuses for any of them. Instead, he carefully lifted Stretch’s slight weight from the floor, shoving his own anguish at his stillness down, burying it beneath necessity. In his arms, Stretch was completely limp, utter deadweight that was difficult to negotiate past the stairs. Once he reached the sidewalk, Edge was forced to allow Blue to fish his keys from his pocket, Sans taking the passenger side as Edge lifted Stretch into the backseat. 

With trembling gentleness, he settled Stretch in his lap, his eye lights focused on his still, silent form, Checking as often as he dared, taking what comfort he could in his unwavering HP, even with it being two points lower than his max. It was enough, he would be all right, Edge told himself. He was going to be fine, just fine, he’d recover from this, he would.

And as soon as he did, Edge was going to kill him. 

-tbc-


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Once they’d gotten to the surface and the Monsters had established a treaty with the Humans, it hadn’t taken long for money to start coming in. Monster technology varied from Humans in interesting and useful ways, and it was easily one of the top reasons they’d been able to form New New Home so quickly. All Monsters received a basic allotment with extra pay for services provided. His car was the first thing Edge had gotten after he started work at the Embassy, a rare, ridiculous indulgence. A cherry red convertible and he did all the maintenance himself, neat spreadsheets documenting the service and upgrades, measuring the wear on the tires. It was his and he took care of it. 

Barring his brother’s occasional theft, no one else had driven it. Until now. 

Blue was driving quickly but safely, eminently practical, only a hair above the speed limit. If they were in an accident it would help no one and getting pulled over was not a delay they could afford. 

Intellectually, Edge knew that, even though a trembling urgency was burning in his soul for Blue to go faster, to get them to those who were better equipped to help. 

He couldn’t watch the road. All his attention was on Stretch who was lying disturbingly still in his lap. It was painfully wrong, that stillness. He was always moving, always fidgeting, even in his sleep. Never this. 

The car took a sharp corner, jolting them all, and Edge clutched him closer to keep him from tumbling off the seat. One of his hands slipped free, falling limply to the floor. 

He couldn’t leave it there; the fingers curling loosely inward made him think of a dying spider’s legs. Edge shuddered, pulling Stretch’s arm up by the sleeve, catching his wrist in a loose grip.

Edge risked another Check and the stats made him flinch, the briny taste of fear rising thickly in his throat. His HP was dropping again, going from 2.8 to 2.7 as he watched. 2.6.

“Blue,” Edge said, distantly marveling at the evenness of his tone, “he’s losing HP.”

“Then you need to heal him,” Blue replied, his voice a match to Edge’s. That he rolled through a red light with hardly a pause was a measure of his true concern. 

“I can’t,” Edge shook his head. Whatever calm he was desperately clinging to was cracking, leaving him floundering, lost. He could battle against an attacker, he could protect against that. An inner wound like this left him helpless. Useless. 

“Yes, you can. You need to. We worked on this.”

They had, many times. Blue had offered privately to train him in healing and if his true motive was concern for his brother, then Edge had been more than willing to learn for the same reason. But no matter how many times he’d practiced, his magic always came in a brutal, wounding surge. His control was perfect when it came to attacks, but the softness required for healing resisted him. “I’d hurt him more than I’d help him.”

“shoulda shortcutted home for papyrus, he’d be a hell of a lot more useful right now than me.” Sans muttered. 

“You won’t,” Blue said calmly. The turn signal clicked like a metronome, they weren’t close enough to the hospital, not yet. 

_2.4, 2.3._

“It’s like adding butter to hollandaise sauce.” 

Startled by the non-sequitur, Edge jerked his head up, breaking the Check. “What?”

“You can’t add it all at once because the mixture will break,” Blue told him. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his gloves creaking, but his voice was that same even calm. “You need to add the butter a little at a time and whisk it in. That’s what you need to do, a little at a time. Don’t push the magic in, add it gently. Edge,” he met Blue’s eye lights in the rearview mirror. “You can do this for him.”

They didn’t have a choice. “All right.”

He stripped off his glove, settled his bare hand on Stretch’s sternum, just as he had a few days earlier, he’d been inches from the beauty of his summoned soul, soft silver light—

He couldn’t think of that now. He concentrated, shaping his magic clumsily away from an attack and into the very opposite of it. It resisted at first, then reluctantly eased into something softer, the Intent not to harm but to heal. Very slowly, straining for control, Edge let it go, the summoned deep crimson settling into Stretch’s ribcage. 

Beneath his hand, Stretch jerked fitfully and he made a tight, pained sound. But when Edge Checked again his HP was rising. His control wavered with his split attention and Edge released the Check instantly, closing his sockets and focused. 

Holding on to that mental picture of adding cold butter, a pat at a time, to a saucepan. Whisking the sauce, forming an emulsion, and Stretch loved hollandaise, that was why Blue knew how to make it, loved eggs benedict, Edge often made it on the weekends with their surplus of eggs, and the force of his magic was starting to weaken, his soul aching from using so much…

“How is he?”

Slowly, Edge opened his sockets, reluctantly breaking the connection. Under his hand Stretch shuddered slightly, a flush of warmth in his cheek bones and Edge sagged weakly back in the seat. 

But Stretch’s HP was at its max.

“Better,” Edge said faintly. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder, “He’s better.”

“Good,” Blue said at the same time he turned the car sharply enough to rattle all of them, into the circle drive of the Monster side of the hospital. He pulled right up to the front entrance and Sans jumped out to open the door.

As drained as he was, Edge managed to lift Stretch up and carried him through the automatic doors where loud exclamations were blurred into rushed explanations, followed by a gurney and Stretch was wheeled out of his sight. 

Edge stood in the lobby, wanting to follow them, wanting to keep Stretch near, and knowing he needed to let them work. Next to him, Sans shifted on his feet, his untied sneakers shuffling against the tiles. 

“want me to call your brother, edgelord?” he offered. “should give papyrus a call anyway, he’ll wanna know what’s going on.” 

“You know what happened,” Edge said, low. He didn’t miss the flicker of Sans’s eye lights, the near flinch. With some effort, he kept from curling his hands into fists. Blame could wait. “You need to explain to the doctors what he did.”

“yeah, that sounds great,” his laughter was humorless and tired. “real chuckalicious.” He scraped a hand over his skull, his fingers clicking against the smooth bone. “look, i didn’t know he was gonna try this on his own—”

He broke off as the automatic doors behind them opened and Blue came running in, keys still jangling in his hands. “Edge, I parked in the back of the west lot…what’s going on?” He looked between them uncertainly and Sans shook his head. 

“not a thing, kiddo.” Sans’s weary smile widened as Blue scowled at the nickname. “i’m gonna take a walk to the back, see if i can give the docs an idea of what they’re looking at. maybe you and the edgelord should keep each other company, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for Blue’s confused agreement, only tucked his hands into his pockets and shuffled in the direction the orderlies had vanished, not even bothering with a misleading shortcut. 

A light touch on his arm made Edge startle enough that crimson sparked at his fingertips. He was too shaken and exhausted, his control was cracking and the soft concern in Blue’s eye lights was too much to handle right now. His own brother was…he…he was hurt, and Blue was worried about _him_. 

“Why don’t we sit down in the waiting room?” Edge said heavily. “They’ll come for us when they can.”

“Of course,” Blue agreed, and they went over to the small reception area. It was empty; the entire wing was for Monsters and their population was small in comparison to the Humans. 

The sofas proved to be too hard and uncomfortable, the chairs equally so. In one corner was a table that held a half-full coffee pot and Blue poured two cups before he came and sat next to Edge, handing one to him. He took a sip and grimaced, shaking his head, holding the styrofoam cup in both hands. “Pappy is going to be fine.”

“He will,” Edge said, sharply. Anything else was unthinkable, unimaginable. 

A gloved hand settled over his own, blue against red, and Blue squeezed hard as if sealing a compact between them. Stretch was going to be fine, Pappy, Rus, Papyrus. By whatever name, it was _him_ and he was going to be fine. 

They sat together for what felt like hours, watching people go through doors, Humans and Monsters both, in white coats and soft-soled shoes, none of them giving them more than a glance and an awkward smile. At one point, Edge texted his brother, giving him a terse outline of what had happened and then set his phone aside without looking at what was likely a profanity-laced reply. 

Blue drifted off to sleep, his skull resting against the arm of the couch. The drain of his own magic demanded rest, even as fitfully as he slept. He didn’t stir when Edge covered him with his own coat, pacing silently down the short hallways while he waited. Exhausted as he was, he couldn’t sleep, not yet, he needed information first. He needed to know. 

One of the doors opened again and this time the footsteps were familiar, shuffling and slow. Sans looked as tired as if he’d drained his own magic, but his smile was easier, “heya. doc says he’s stable enough, they got the HP drain under control. they’re taking him upstairs to a room, 216 if you wanna head up.”

Relief didn’t overshadow the burgeoning mass of his worry but it took a fair size chunk away.

“Let me wake Blue—” Edge began, and Sans shook his head. 

“i got him. go on up, sooner you see him, the better you’ll feel. And edge?” Sans caught him firmly by the arm, forcing Edge to look down at him. “lotta tubes, okay? he’s wired in with more iv’s and monitors than a server room. but he’s stable. he’s doing all right.”

“All right,” Edge echoed, and Sans grinned a little, nodding.

“yeah, he’s all right, so don’t freak the fuck out when you see him.” He nodded towards the elevators. “go on.”

“Thank you.” 

Edge started towards them and almost didn’t hear Sans muttering sourly, “yeah, don’t go thanking me. i didn’t do shit and that’s a fact.” 

There were questions there and Edge was going to get answers soon enough. For now, he skipped the elevator and used the stairwell instead, taking the steps two at a time to the second floor. 

In room 216, the curtain was drawn around the bed and stepping behind it made Edge distantly grateful for Sans’s warning. 

Stretch was in the bed, his sweatshirt replaced with a hospital gown. It made him look smaller, unbearably frail. A thick blanket was drawn up to his chest, but it was the wires that caught Edge’s attention. ‘A lot’ seemed like an understatement, they seemed to be everywhere, electrodes attached to his skull, trailing beneath the blanket along with the glowing line of the IV that was augmented his magic. The equipment by the bed showed readings but Edge had no idea what they meant. 

This was getting to be far too familiar a sight; Stretch unconscious in a hospital bed, pale and still.

But it was the first time that it wasn’t caused by an outside source.

There was a chair in one corner and Edge drew it up to the side of the bed. Stretch’s hand was lying on top of the blankets, his right hand. The other was buried beneath the blankets. Gently, Edge lifted his hand, twined those limp fingers with his own. 

The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the hum of the machines. 

“Love—” Edge began, choking a little. He had to look down and gather himself, swallowing down the thickness in his throat. “Love, you can’t keep doing this to me. I can’t bear this. I can’t. Of all the reckless, selfish--” 

He broke off, biting back the words. It was possible Stretch could hear him. Anything was possible.

Very carefully, Edge leaned down enough to press a light kiss to Stretch’s knuckles where the faintest glow of his magic was usually visible. “You have no idea how much I wish you would wake up and argue with me right now, you utter ass.”

Just then Blue came rushing into the room followed more slowly by Sans. He stopped when he caught sight of his brother and the play of emotion across his face, fear, worry, anger, was likely a mirror to Edge’s own.

“You may as well pull up a chair,” Edge told him. “From my experience, a doctor will be in soon.”

Blue gave him a weak smile. “That’s how I remember it.”

“yeah, guess i’m staying, too,” Sans sighed. He didn’t bother with a chair, sitting instead on the floor, closing his sockets and letting his head fall back against the wall. “when you invited me over to watch the new episodes of the good place, this isn't what I was expecting. brings new meaning to netflix and chill, fuck, i’m too old for this shit.”

Blue hesitated, halfway to dragging a chair to the bed. “Are you all right?” 

“yep.“ Sans didn’t open his sockets. “just not very good at being the stable, supportive one. s’why i have paps.” 

“You’re doing fine,” Edge mumbled. His exhaustion was catching up to him. Stretch’s fingers were cold, and he sandwiched them between his own hands, rubbing gently. Trying to impart some of his own warmth into those chilly phalanges.

He thought he might close his sockets for a moment, until the doctor arrived. He didn’t remember letting his head drop, the low murmur of Sans and Blue talking behind him. The hospital blanket was scratchy, not at all like the fluffy warmth of their ones at home. More like a memory of another time, other blankets, back when he was still called Papyrus.

He would never admit to it, not when he was fully awake. But drifting in exhaustion, more tangled in sleep than not, Edge spared a thought to wish his brother was here.

-tbc-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, you have to go forward to go back...
> 
> But because I had a few people who were concerned enough to ask, let me reassure y'all that no one is dying in this series, nor would I ever have Edge and Stretch separate, nope, nope, nope. Life isn't perfect for them, never was, but you can count on that much, for certain.

* * *

When Edge first opened his sockets, he wasn’t sure where he was. Blearily, he looked around the room, his thoughts tangled and sleepy. 

The walls were painted a soft yellow and hanging on them were paintings of soothing landscapes and floral arrangements, done by the artists in the Monster community. On a corner table was a vase of dried flowers, carefully displayed to bring a touch of soft color to the room. The overall effect would have given the appearance of a luxury hotel room, if not for the hospital bed and the monitoring equipment. 

There were comfortable chairs, a far cry from those in the waiting room. Blue was curled up asleep in one of them, his head resting on his updrawn knees. Beneath the curtained window was a cushioned bench. At some point in the night Sans had crawled up on it and he was sound sleep, unflinching at the dawn light pouring across his face. 

They both had matching dark smudges beneath their sockets, their faces lined with weariness. He surely had a set of his own. Matching luggage, wasn’t that the witticism? 

His exhaustion must be making him giddy, if he was thinking up jokes. Sleeping in a chair had done little for his fatigue but his magic had recovered quite a bit, they should all have gotten something to eat before they’d fallen asleep last night, they—

It was only when the blankets on the bed shifted that Edge woke up entirely, everything that had happened the night before falling painfully into place. Stretch stirring was likely what had woken him, and Edge leaned back in his chair, watching as Stretch’s face scrunched up, his sockets flickering. 

At some point in the night, someone had removed most of the electrodes, which meant someone had been in this room and Edge had slept through it. That he’d berate himself for later; right now his attention was entirely on Stretch as he slowly woke. 

He blinked rapidly, his head lifting from the pillow as he looked around in confusion. His eye lights met Edge’s and he could see dawning realization before he let his head drop back on the pillow, closed his sockets as he croaked out a heartfelt, “fuck.”

“Yes, I would call that an accurate assessment,” Edge said acidly. Stretch’s sockets pinched shut tighter for a brief moment before he slit them open again, fuzzy white lights meeting the crimson of his glare. “’Fuck’ is certainly a word to describe this. Perhaps I can use it in a sentence for you. For example, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Behind him, he could hear Sans and Blue stirring, but he didn’t look away from Stretch, who was shrinking down in a guilty cringe. It confirmed everything he’d been afraid of; not only had Stretch been doing something dangerous, he’d done it on purpose, without even the barest precaution of a lab partner. The fear he’d been swallowing back all night, waiting hours for ~~if~~ when his husband woke, was congealing within him, hardening into fury. 

Pure carelessness, that was all it was, Stretch so foolhardy with his own life, and for what?

“Would you care to explain what happened?” Edge demanded. “Do you even know?”

Blue slid out of the chair, scrubbing hard at his sockets as he came up to Edge’s elbow, “Pappy, you should rest—"

They both ignored him and Stretch burst out, “look, i know, i fucked up.”

Edge laughed harshly and Stretch cringed harder, gripping his hands together, the bones scraping. “Oh, well, then, you know that you fucked up, that makes it all fine, doesn’t it?”

“i didn’t say that!” Stretch blurted. He was breathing heavily, the machines giving a beep of warning. But a quick Check showed his HP was fine and Edge wasn’t about to apologize for Checking him. As agitated as Stretch was, Edge doubted he noticed. “it’s just with everything that’s been happening lately, i was trying to…to get the fucking thing to _work_. i thought if i could get it working properly, things would get better.” He reached out tentatively, his fingers drifting limply down to the bed when Edge didn’t take his hand. “i thought, humans might not like us but if we could work through a way to help them heal? they’d be begging for us to stay aboveground.”

“Pray tell, how does that excuse cutting corners? I may not understand everything you do in your lab, but I do know Sans should have been with you.”

“edge,” Sans said behind him. His voice was low and miserable, but Edge couldn’t pay attention to that. His focus was a laser on Stretch, angry heat throbbing in his rib cage.

“i know,” Stretch whispered. A tear streaked down his cheekbone and for the first time since they’d gotten together Edge felt a brief, vicious moment of satisfaction at seeing it, coupled with distant pain. 

“Do you have any idea how it felt to go downstairs and see you like that?” Edge went on, relentlessly.

“i get it, okay?” Stretch’s voice broke, pleading. 

“If you don’t care how it made me feel, then think about your brother!”

“i care how you feel!” Stretch shouted. The tears were flowing now, bright orange against the paleness of his skull. “of course i fucking care! you’ve been under so much stress lately, i only wanted to—" Stretch bit off the words, scrubbing angrily at his cheek bones with the back of his hand. “i was trying to help!”

That was like a blow, directly to his soul and abruptly it all made a glaring sort of sense. Stretch had done this because of him. He'd risked his life for _him_ , all for him. 

Slowly, Edge stood, the chair scraping loudly on the floor as he pushed it back. Without a word, he turned and walked out, couldn’t listen to Stretch frantically calling his name. He needed a moment, or he was going to say something he’d truly regret.

His boots were too loud against the clean tile of the floor, the steady sound of them lulling as Edge walked swiftly through the corridors. His feet carried him automatically to the visitor area where doors led outside to a terrace. Distantly, he registered someone standing on one end, smelled a whiff of cigarette smoke. He ignored them, pushing aside the flutter of emotion that familiar scent gave him, and walked to the other side to brace his hands against the snowy stone balustrade. 

The volcanic heat in his soul was pounding with molten fury, LV that rarely troubled him clamoring unforgivingly. Edge dug his fingers into the stone until they hurt, the pain purposefully distracting as he concentrated on breathing. In to a count of four, then out, drawing out the exhalation as long as he could. Finding a rhythm, letting it soothe him. 

The cold helped as well; it cleared his head, helped him focus. Edge stood there until his feet and hands were numb, his skull chilly with drying sweat.

He gave it another long moment before he said, acidly, “I know you’re there.”

Red stepped out from a shadow, the glow of his eye lights appearing abruptly. “good, was getting sick of hiding.” 

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slender cigar, biting off the end with sharp teeth and spitting it over the terrace. He took his time lighting it, scratching the match against the stone balustrade and holding the cigar in the tiny flame until the end glowed cherry red. He took a long puff, exhaling a vile cloud of smoke that wafted directly into Edge’s face. “all right now?”

Edge considered it before he answered, watching the ash grow in length at the cigar tip before his brother tapped it carefully away. “Yes. If you blow that smoke in my face again, I’m going to shove that cigar through your eye socket.”

A grin quirked up the corner of Red’s mouth, but he moved to stand downwind. “whatever you say, boss.”

It wasn’t worth the argument to tell his brother not to call him that, not at this moment. “How long have you been here?”

Red shrugged, leaning with his back against the railing. “since last night. didn’t want to interrupt your little slumber party, so i talked with the doc. sleeping pretty heavy these days, aren’t you, bro.”

Edge didn’t bother answering that. His brother would find a way to punish him for it, eventually. For now, he had more important questions, “What did the doctor say?”

“said that your liability is fucking lucky you found him when you did,” Red said bluntly. Edge did not flinch, only met his brother’s gaze evenly. Eventually, Red nodded. “he’ll be okay. sans was a little forthcoming, at least,” something in his expression soured a little at that. Perhaps Edge wasn’t the only one with a reprimand in his future. “that little toy of theirs was supposed to take a little of their magic. no big deal, both of them have it in spades. only, something backfired and instead it drained him dry. when it ran out of magic, it went for his hp.”

Perhaps it was a measure of kindness that Red stopped there, that he didn’t confirm what Edge already knew. If he hadn’t been worried when Stretch didn’t show up for dinner, if he’d stayed later at work, if, if, if. Or perhaps Red didn’t want to antagonize his LV any further by saying what they were both thinking. 

_Dust_. 

With a flick of his wrist, Red tamped out his cigar, tossing the butt into a nearby ashtray. “if you’re done with your bitch fit, we should get back. your pretty little honey bun is about to have an aneurysm. doc is talking about sedating him if he doesn’t calm down.”

Guilt flared, as painfully cold as his anger had been hot but Red was already shaking his head. “don’t even, kid. sometimes you gotta walk away. Better to take a chance leaving than staying like that.”

Edge nodded curtly, turning on heel and walking away. His brother didn’t follow him, but then, Edge didn’t expect him to. Red would find his own way back to the room. 

He could hear weeping before he even made it to the doorway, taking a slow breath and bracing himself before he walked in. Blue was sitting on the bed with Stretch, holding his brother and rocking him, singing softly. Sans was nowhere in sight. 

Blue’s eye lights jerked towards Edge as he stepped through the door, wide and accusing but he said nothing, only loosened his hold as Edge moved up to the side of the bed.

When Stretch lifted his face from his brother’s shoulder, his face was awash with tears. The sound he made, a low, whimpering moan, tore at Edge’s battered soul. He let Stretch grab him with frantic hands, let him pull him in, holding him achingly tight.

“don’t leave me,” Stretch pleaded, his unsettled hands grasping at him frantically. “please, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, don’t leave, _please_ …”

“Hush,” Edge murmured. Uselessly; Stretch only babbled on, but he managed to move enough to pull Stretch into his lap in a tangle of blankets and tubes. Gently, he cupped the back of Stretch’s skull, guiding his head down to his own shoulder. Wetness seeped through his shirt almost immediately. Edge ignored it, petting softly, soothingly, as he crooned, “Shh, it’s all right, it’s all right now, I wasn’t leaving, I would never leave you, shhhh. You aren't getting rid of me that easily.”

He heard the door close and sent a thought of silent gratitude at Red, for surely he’d dragged Blue out; it was highly unlikely he’d leave on his own, not with his brother like this. But Edge preferred to deal with his husband’s upset without an audience and he didn’t care to be soothing both Swap brothers. He cared about Blue, for all that he could be an occasional irritant, but his passion and his love was for one skeleton alone, the one in his arms. 

Edge only held Stretch as he cried himself out, murmuring useless reassurances until he fell asleep. He waited until he was sure Stretch was sleeping soundly, then, with as much care as he could, Edge lifted Stretch back into the bed. He took his time tucking the blankets around him, wiping away the drying dregs of his tears, then lay down next to him, on top of the covers. 

Eventually a nurse came in, pausing as she caught sight of Edge on the bed. Edge glared at her, but she didn’t say a word, only changed the IV bag and left.

With a sigh, he settled in, resting his head on the pillow next to Stretch’s and closed his sockets. He didn’t care what anyone did or didn’t say, doctors, brothers, or the Angel herself.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

-finis-


End file.
